I don't own any recognised characters; I wish I'd do, but they are J.K. Rowling's creations. I only consider several relatives of Isla that are not shown on the Black family tree (parents, uncles/aunts and cousins) that J.K. Rowling had published as well as all names that you don't recognise of my own creation.

– chapter one –

Soon

It was a wonderful feeling, lying and floating in and out of a dream, the softness of the bed surrounding me. I was awake and yet my eyes stayed closed to hold onto that dream. Although I couldn't remember what the dream had been about, I still knew it had been glorious. It had evolved around me – the central figure of the masterpiece. But even the best feeling leaves at some point. With a deep sigh I opened my eyes.

My room was bathed in streams of sunlight, shining with all their early might through my windows. They were high and allowed a lot of the day's light to flow into my room, giving it an airy appearance with the light-coloured walls reflecting the sunlight and prism-breaking it into millions of wonderful colours within my own four boundaries. I smiled, feeling utmost content and secure, thankful towards my great-grandfather who had constructed and decorated this room as a surprise for his only daughter and all future descendants.

Outside, on the stairs, I could hear someone coming up; the steps were light and feathery on the thick blue carpet. It could only be father, as he always seemed to be floating instead of putting one foot before the other. His pace was quick, yet still admirably light. And listening to his steps has always been a joy for me.

Mother's steps were light, too; although she didn't seem to float. Her pace was… different. I couldn't describe it, but wherever I was, hearing her steps, I could always tell that it was her.

My sister was always stomping when walking or climbing stairs; no wonder, father would say, she's still only thirteen years old. She still had years to practise walking like a lady instead of stomping through the world like a small giant. But I thought it kind of fit her character. She became furious really easily, and when she was in one of her rages, she would not only smash several vases and other porcelains, but stomp up the stairs, also. Mother was always near tears whenever Elle became a raging monstrosity. It was not the usual behaviour for a member of our family.

Phin, my brother, had developed the typical walking graze of our family on his own. His steps were quite light, but the floating appearance was still missing. I'm not sure whether he wanted to learn it, but at least father always urged him to 'hold the head high, straighten the shoulders and walk with pride'. It wasn't suit for us to crouch like a beggar over the earth.

And me? My steps were still the ones of a ten-year-old child, trying to impress older siblings and parents. But I was determined to become as graceful as the rest of my family.

A light knock-knock at my door tore me out of my reveries. I slowly sat up and slid my legs over the edge of my bed, angling my bare feet for my slippers. Hurrying over to the door and opening it, I looked up into the face of my father; I had been right, it had been him coming up the stairs.

'Fine, you're awake. Hurry up, get dressed. We have to leave in an hour to get your brother and sister on the train.'

'Yes, father,' I replied. He turned around and continued his way to the next floor to my siblings' rooms.

I didn't watch him climbing the stairs but instead closed the door, ripped the night-dress off of me and opened my wardrobe to fish for a skirt and blouse. While I rummaged through my clothes, I heard the door open and close again, then a thin voice shrieking, 'Me lady isn't allowed to dress alone, no, me lady mustn't.' Then two small, yet strong hands gripped my waist and pulled me back. I was clutching a blouse and skirt in my hands, but they were taken from me with equal force as I was pulled away from my wardrobe.

'Themis, I'm old enough to dress on my own…' I began but a small hand pushing me towards the nearest chair interrupted my insistence.

'No, no, no, no, no, no,' the house-elf replied, emphasising every word with a push until I sat down. 'Me lady not dressing herself alone, Themis is doing it.' She shook her head violently when I opened my mouth to argue, her huge bat-like ears flying wildly around her head, slapping rather forcefully against it. But this didn't seem to worry or hurt Themis, because she didn't even wince. So I did instead.

Themis was just a house-elf, a tiny creature with a huge head, large eyes and gigantic, batwing ears, yet she was a really strong character and had a lot of willpower. Her rage even matched my sister's; nothing could prevent Themis from going about her everyday work, not even something as violent as a storm blasting through our house. So a ten-year-old girl looking for clothes to wear was easy to crush. No wonder Themis had been in our family for three generations, looking after and helping raise us children. She fit in well.

I was raised to behave and not contradict, so I sat there, closed my mouth again (after having received a look from Themis that told more than words could ever achieve) and did whatever Themis ordered me to do. In no time I was washed, combed and dressed, then ushered downstairs into the kitchen for breakfast. I knew that Themis, on the other hand, was headed to the next floor to tend to my sister.

I had my room on the third floor, next to a bathroom, a small library which worked as a study for us children, and another empty bedroom. This room should once have belonged to my sister. But because the second bedroom on the fourth floor, directly under the roof, was empty after the death of my second brother, she was allowed to move in there and leave the third floor.

Phineas Nigellus was my older brother, six years older, to be exact, but he was only the second-born son. Sirius Perseus had been the heir of father, but he died at only eight years of age. There had been a bad disease going around, and he had got infected with it. According to Themis, who sometimes babbled about my dead brother when she thought no one was listening, he had spent five months in St. Mungo's before he died one late night in April, 1853. It was out of grief that mother, who had been pregnant with me at that time, went into labour much too early. I was born mere hours after my brother's death.

My sister Elladora Charis was three years older than me, but we got along really well. In fact, when Elle was not having one of her usual fits, we played harmoniously together. She had taught me how to read and write; we would dream of fine princes, riding in on white horses to take us to their huge, splendid castles, making us their beautiful princesses. We drew those magnificent castles on parchment, and mother would hang them up in our study. The walls in there were literally plastered with these pictures.

On my way down to the kitchen I came across the second floor – hosting the huge bedroom of my parents, along with a second, much bigger bathroom, private study for father, and a large lounge – and the first floor, which was the normally inhabited area of the house. There was the 'official' library, together with two or three spare bedrooms (reserved for guests spending the night in our house) as well as a guest bath and the long, high-ceilinged drawing room where, on the far wall, our family tree was. It reached back several centuries, well into the Middle Ages. I was proud to be a part of it, and several years ago spent lots of time in front of the tree to not only look at it, marvelling at the fact that my family had been there for so long, but to learn it by heart. I still know it and will never forget my ancestry.

But the goal of my disturbingly loud steps on the soft carpet in the silent house had not been reached, so I took off down the stairs once more. I quickly reached the entrance hall, from where the sitting and dining room (for special occasions only) branched off. I went past several portraits of my ancestors, who slept peacefully in their frames, then stepped onto the last staircase leading down into the basement kitchen, where we normally ate whenever there were no guests visiting. On the wall hung several portraits of my siblings, parents and me, and I went slower to have a good look at them, even though I saw them every day.

Phin, Elle and I – and Sirius, too – sported the same appearance. We had smooth, black hair and grey eyes, the same colour as a misty London morning. Although still quite young, we were all tall and lanky. Elle and I had fair skin, which made us look even more breakable than our fragile build already suggested. Phin was a bit more on the dark side. His tanned skin was a golden-brown colour and looked healthier than ours. He even was built broader around the shoulders with strong arms and legs. His torso showed every lean muscle, and he was a real sight to see. I've noticed lots of girls or, when he got older, young women swoon after him whenever we were at a party. Phin didn't talk a lot about girlfriends and matters like these, but I'm sure he had one at school.

Which reminded me… there was only twenty minutes left for me to eat before we would accompany Elle and Phin to the school train. So I quickened my pace again and entered the long basement.

Off in a far corner was the kitchenette where another house-elf named Poros was busying himself with a good-smelling soup; he was already preparing lunch. I went around the table and sat next to Phin, who was already through his breakfast and reading the Daily Prophet – or at least the pages mother had already perused and cast aside. I only glanced over the headline that suggested the new Minister (it was only a short amount of time before a new one would be elected), then happily munched on my eggs and toast. Mother threw me a disgusted look when I took a large gulp of water and started to cough after having choked on the bread. I looked down ashamed, warmth flooding through me and reddening my cheeks. I whispered a quick 'Sorry,' then continued eating, this time more like a lady.

Some time during my second portion – Poros had put more eggs onto my plate after I had finished with the first ones – Elle and father entered the kitchen. My sister was already wearing her school uniform, except for the cloak. I already dreamed of the day when I would be allowed to wear this uniform, too, and would look like my sister. She looked really beautiful in the black skirt and white blouse, the silver-green, straight tie lying around her neck. It was only then that I noticed Phin wearing his school uniform, too.

'Son, how far along are you with packing?' father asked, not bothering to sit down. Elle had taken the first page of the Prophet, her eyes scanning the headline and the article beneath.

'Everything is in the trunk, father. My cloak is already downstairs, and my wand I have here with me.' He took it out of his trousers pocket and held it high to show him. I was longing to touch it, but it was still another year until I would go to Hogwarts, too. Until that day I wasn't allowed to touch anything that had to do with school, meaning wands, spell books or school robes. I sighed resignedly.

'That's fine. Elladora's trunk has already been brought down. Poros,' father turned to the house-elf, handling plates, 'fetch Phineas' trunk and hurry. We're already quite late.'

The house-elf did immediately as he was ordered, and mere seconds later Phin's trunk was sitting next to Elle's. I always wondered how those tiny creatures could handle all that stuff at one time. But I figured it must be their kind of magic – ancient yet very different from the kind we were able to do. Theirs was powerful, but no matter how the elves tried, it would never match our wielding.

While off on one of my thinking streaks, I had finished my breakfast and mother put away the newspaper. Together we went upstairs and donned our cloaks before setting off towards the train station where the Hogwarts Express would carry Phin and Elle to school.

I remember the day when Phin left for school the first time like it was yesterday. We had entered the platform and there had been the scarlet train, emitting grey, cloud-like puffs, ready to leave. A huge crowd of people had been present, parents saying goodbye to their children, warning them to behave and to remember to write. A smaller crowd had stood aside, their words and gestures fewer than the ones of the rest of the assembled crowd. Those had been the well-respected families we were acquainted with, the pure-bloods worth knowing. The others were Mudbloods, only filth to be treated with as such. I always wondered why anybody decent would allow people like them to enter into our world. But according to father, who had the best connections within the Ministry, it was common nowadays and 'Muggle-borns' were to be treated like all pure-bloods.

Anyway, that had been the first time I had entered platform 9 ¾, and it had been a glorious but depressing moment; I wouldn't be allowed to go to school for six more years. Pity, I was prepared for this from the day I was born. And each time we went to accompany first only my brother and later Elle, too, to the train, another year went by and the time I would have to remain at home shortened. Now it would be the last time I would have to say goodbye to my siblings; next year would be the moment when I would wear those school robes, carry a wand with me and wave goodbye to my parents. Oh, how I longed for that day to come…

The journey to the station was uneventful, short and relatively quiet. Only mother made comments about those nasty Muggles from time to time. But we had no encounter with anyone of their sort, so nothing dramatic happened. I once caught sight of my brother's face; he seemed disappointed that nothing interesting occurred. I think he would have welcomed the idea of a fight against an unarmed Muggle, nowhere near able to defend himself against powerful curses. Somehow I had a feeling that my brother would make up for these lost chances when safely at school and away from father's wrath.

The entrance to Platform 9 ¾ was through a massive, solid-looking stone pillar. It had made me nervous going through there for the first time, but now I was used to it. Nevertheless, it left a strange, tingly feeling behind walking through stone. The Mudbloods that were to go through the entrance for the first time looked doubtful. Only after they had seen several witches and wizards do so without so much as flinching did they dare to try it on their own. I could only curl my lips at them, seeing how unable they were to comprehend the easiest bits of magic. And they caused quite a throng in front of the entrance. Luckily the Muggles didn't notice anything; they're so dull.

Seeing that it was only several minutes before the train would leave, the farewell was rather short. Father lectured my brother and sister on dignity while mother asked them to behave themselves. Elle looked sulky at the mention of that while Phin only sneered, 'Mother, behaviour is second nature to us Blacks. You don't need to believe otherwise.' Father gave him a short, proud smile, but then the train whistle sounded, calling all students aboard. I never cried whenever I saw my siblings leave (I was proud of that), so I wouldn't start with my last goodbye. Instead I gave them a small wink and nod before going back to mother. She had by now walked over to a friend of hers and started talking.

Mrs Orwell was at the station because her daughter had just been sent off for her third year at Hogwarts. Her son, however, would leave next year together with me. His name was Savaric and I had known him since we were little. Our families had befriended because father and Mr Orwell worked together at the Ministry; we saw each other regularly at dinners, either at the Orwell's house or in our own.

Savaric was looking uninterested at the Mudbloods on the platform; he was long over thinking up ways to curse them. But I wasn't quite sure if it was a lack of interest, because he wasn't able to do anything to them, yet. What I knew for sure was that he was looking as forward to having his own wand as much as I was. It was already common knowledge that we would go together into the same house, have the same classes and be around each other for the seven years that were to be spent at Hogwarts. Nothing would be able to divide us.

Phin had told me all about Hogwarts when he had come home for the first time. It had been the Christmas holidays of 1859, and I remember it had been a really cold winter. We had sat in our study, Phin doing his homework while Elle read to me. I can't really remember the content of this book, but somehow it had urged Phin into telling us about school. He had explained that there were four houses: Slytherin, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff and Gryffindor. He had said Slytherin was the only true house to be Sorted into; then he had lunged into narration about the Sorting. Obviously there was a hat that Sorted the first years, after having sung about the founders, houses or Merlin knew what else.

Ravenclaw house was for students with a sharp and witty mind; they were the best at school. I suppose Ravenclaw wouldn't be a bad choice if this strange hat would put me there. After all, my cousin Gwenhyfar went into that house and did really well at school. At least that's what Elle had told me… They were in the same year but in different houses.

Students in Hufflepuff were normally loyalists and the well-being of the community was more important to them than their own. My uncle – the husband of father's sister – had been in Hufflepuff, and his character fit well into that house, from what I've heard.

Finally there's Gryffindor and I don't know anybody from my immediate family or friends that went there. According to Phin and my parents, Gryffindors were the enemies of Slytherins. I didn't know anything else about this house and was not interested to know more.

Coming back to reality, I suddenly noticed that my parents and I were already back at home. Somehow during all my thinking and daydreaming, we had walked back from the station. Then father's sharp voice penetrated my thoughts, 'And I thought we'd lost you somewhere in one of your fantasies' world, Isla.' I quickly looked up at him. He wasn't smiling. His forehead was wrinkled and his eyes scowling. Daydreaming and living in a world of thought was a really bad habit of mine. I gulped and looked down at my sock-clad feet; somehow I had already removed my shoes without noticing.

A firm grasp on my forearm brought my attention back to father. He dragged me upstairs into my bedroom. I heard mother sob once, then fear overtook me. I knew what was going to happen: father didn't tolerate it whenever someone didn't pay the slightest attention to our surroundings. And I definitely hadn't. He was going to punish me, hard. Usually it was grounding, loss of privileges like pudding as dessert or being allowed to read in the evenings in bed. But from time to time it would result in a spanking. And whenever I got caught daydreaming, I received one.

He had thrown me onto the bed, my face sinking into the soft mattress. But before I could push myself up again and turn around to face father, he was already behind me. With one hand between my shoulder blades he held me down while the other took one of my slippers and smacked it down onto my rear with force. I yelped with surprise at the sudden blow and pain, then started to cry and scream when the second stroke met my behind. Only one thought shot through my brain during these moments: when would the punishment end?

It went on for several more blows; I didn't care to count. Each blow fell with accurately measured force and aim; each sting throbbed on my buttocks. I surely wouldn't be able to sit for a week or so. And when it ended, it still felt like more smacks were coming down. While lifting me up into a standing position, father ordered me to stop crying; it took me several minutes to calm down enough to gulp down my tears. When my sobs had finally reduced to hiccups, he had grounded me for one week, only two allowed meals per day, no reading and no drawing. I was only permitted to leave my room for the bathroom twice a day in company of Themis.

'And I hope this will give you enough time to think, Isla Lyrae Black,' my father said before slamming the door shut.

I buried my face in the pillow, tears streaming down my cheeks.

I want to thank JadeSullivan for being the wonderful Beta she is. Without your help, this story would lack something.

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